Time for Tea
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: None is mine. AU conglomeration of Wonderland universes, melding into one very twisted sort of Wonderland. Alice has always had a thing for Rabbit... (Warning: contains Stockholm Syndrome and lots of dubious everything.)
1. Prelude

_Notes: Song lyrics are from Danny Elfman: "Alice's Theme." Alice: Madness Return quotes scattered within._

_"Did someone pull you by the hand?_

_How many miles to Wonderland?_"

Five-score miles and ten, or so Mum would always whisper in my ear as she brushed my hair for me, never pulling or hurting. She'd never hurt her little Alice. She'd never hurt Lizzie either, of course, but I was her youngest. I was special. Little Alice girl in her torn-up stockings and her grubby dress. Mum loved reading _Alice in Wonderland_ to me. She never tired of it, pulling me into her rocking chair when I was small to tell me of shoes and ships and sailing wax, of cabbages and kings. About the Queen of Hearts and her pilfered tarts, and the perpetual tea party deep in the woods. About little lost Alice, trying to find her way in a sea of rabbits and hatters and cards.

It enthralled me as a child and I suppose, in a way, it still does. But little lost Alice has grown up, you see, and has found that the only way to Wonderland is to tiptoe through the broken remnants of your own soul.

But I digress.

My name is Alice Liddell, and I am alone in this world. Mum and Father, Lizzie, all gone in a tragic house fire. It nearly claimed me as well, but a well-meaning neighbour pulled me out, choking on smoke and grasping my stuffed rabbit so tightly, I nearly bruised my fingers. Children don't understand death, not well, but I knew I wanted to die. I was meant to expire in the thick, low-hanging smoke and the flickering bright flames with the rest of my family. The Centaur told me so.

But of course I couldn't _tell_ anyone that. They'd think I was mad! I suppose they thought I was mad anyway, since I was packed off to Rutledge as soon as my burns healed. Wretched place, that asylum. Don't let anyone ever try and tell you differently. Not a decent person in the lot, although I suppose a few tried. I was glad to be shed of that place when I turned eighteen. Walking through the front gates, bold as you please, and shaking the dust off my heels as I went. Still clutching my rabbit.

There's nowhere for a mad girl, though. Not in London. Is it any wonder I ended up back in Dr. Bumby's care? Forget, Alice, he always says in his droning voice. Dangling the pocket watch in front of my eyes like the glitter of the chain will erase my thoughts. Memory is a curse far more often than it is a blessing. _Forget._

I can't, though. He always wants me to, but I can't. How can I forget Father, with his booming laugh and the way he'd always pretend to search his pockets for a peppermint candy before pulling it out with the air of an accomplished magician and popping it into my delighted mouth? Or Mother, and the gentle way she brushed my hair and read me glorious tales of my name sake? Or dear Lizzie, with her striking face and even more striking looks, and the kindness she'd bestow on her wretched little sister?

Forget? If I forget, I lose everything. I lose myself. And in this criss-crossed madcap Wonderland, I dare not even think of it.

Oh, did I forget to mention? Wonderland is real. As real as the scuffs on the toes of my boots, the perpetual rip in my stockings, and the blue ribbon threaded through my hair. A tradition my mother started and one I never fail to uphold.

Dr. Bumby scoffs at me, although he never fails to mention that if Wonderland helps me forget, I should stay there in perpetuity. Rotten creature. His spectacles haunt my dreams, and the ticking of that damned pocket-watch. _Tick tock, tick tock. Forget, Alice. Forget._

Matron thinks me mad, but that's nothing new. The orphans taunt me, calling me little mad Alice and pulling at my dress with dirty fingers, no matter how I curse at them. I suppose I shouldn't. It's not like they're far off, are they? I've lost my way, and I don't know if I shall ever find it again.

But there's only one place to look, isn't there?

Wonderland.


	2. I Found Myself

_Notes: Scattered Alice: Madness Returns quotes. Song lyrics are from "Alice Underground" by Avril Lavigne._

"_I found myself in Wonderland._

_Get back on my feet again. _

_Is this real, is this pretend?_"

It's not as easy to get to Wonderland when you've grown, I discover. The old ways no longer work for you. Imagination has shut its fantastical, curlicued doors. You can no longer step through the looking-glass perched above the mantel, or fall down the disused rabbit hole in the front lawn, by the big oak tree Father refuses to have cut down.

Still-when one is persistent enough, it tends to pay off. Although I'd rather not have to deal with Priss turning into a rather diseased-looking dragonfly with a lantern's eye and a sick, mewling mouth of jagged teeth. I don't like the woman, but I'm not sure this is any better, really.

It is with a rush of relief that I open my eyes and find myself once more in Wonderland.

It hasn't changed much. Oh, there's a brook there that wasn't before, and the playing cards for stepping stones bring a mirthless smile to my lips, but it's the same old Wonderland. Same mad aura that soaks into my bones and makes me feel like I've been lit on fire.

I look down at myself and can't help but laugh in delight. My somber, Matron-bestowed clothes have changed into the familiar blue dress and white pinafore of my youth, though the apron pockets sport rust-red blood stains. I wriggle my toes in familiar glossy black boots and feel at home. At peace, if one can say they are ever at peace in such a place.

Of course, that doesn't take long to change.

"Back again, Alice?" a cold, smirking voice drawls behind me. I whirl, dropping into an automatically defensive posture that turns to near-cringing embarrassment when I realise who it is. Of course it's Cheshire. Smirking bastard. He grins at me, revealing bloodstained and yellowed jagged teeth that provoke a wince of revulsion. Then again, he never has taken proper care of himself.

"Did I ever leave?" I reply, a rhetorical question, but one he seems to take seriously, hopping from foot to foot in an aimless sort of way. Unlike the storybooks, this Cat is actually human. Well, mostly. Grey, tattered ears poke out of the black, tousled hair, and a similarly mangy tail swishes from side to side from a hole poked in the back of his trousers. His eyes are pure yellow cat's, and his teeth are more than a bit pointed. Still, beside all that, he's as human as you or I, I suppose. Can still vanish like his dratted namesake, leaving only his mocking, bloodied smile behind. Bastard.

"A new law reigns in this Wonderland," he replies instead, and an unsettled look flits across his face, there and gone so quickly I think I must have imagined it. "Be on your guard." And with that, he evaporates into thin air, toothy grin fading into the mist off the brook and making me want to smack him. Blasted Cat! I never liked him. Not even in the storybooks Mum read to me. Always laughing at Alice's predicament. Even in my own mind, that hasn't changed.

Well, first things first and all that rot. I look up to find my own steps have unconsciously led me precisely where I wished to go. The spot where the Jabberwock lies. Or should I say his bones, because I already took care of that wretched beast the first time I stepped into my own personal Wonderland. All that remains is the shattered remains of his skeleton, and stuck between his ribs, as always, is the Vorpal Blade.

Despite it all, the edge remains viciously sharp, and I nick my finger on it as I tug the knife free. A hiss of pain escapes me and I nearly drop it in my haste to stick the wounded digit in my mouth and suck at the slight injury.

"At least the damn thing doesn't require sharpening," I murmur to myself, dropping the blade into my apron pocket. It sags comfortably with the familiar weight. It always feels unnatural in this Wonderland to go without a weapon, yet I find myself wistful as I walk along, deeper into the heart of it all. Where is the whimsically cheerful Wonderland of the stories? The illustrations were always so brightly coloured in Mum's storybook. Alice with her buttercup-yellow hair and bemused expression. Her bright blue dress like a beacon.

How can I compare? Sullen. Mad. Ratty black hair that refuses to stay tamed, clothes that remain dingy and torn, no matter what care I put into them. Is it any wonder the only wonder my mind can conjure up is this twisted place?

The path twists ahead, and a plethora of signs sprout at the junction. My steps slow as I near them, struggling to read each one. _Caterpillar's Domain, Rabbit's House, The Tea Party, The Queen's Castle..._

But of course, there's only one choice, isn't there?


End file.
